


Sibling Rivalries

by manic_intent



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Post-Apocalyptic, That AU where Alex was brought up by Uriel and Jeep, because Uriel can't trust either of her brothers to do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex's mom isn't like the other moms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sibling Rivalries

**Author's Note:**

> First thought upon watching ep 4: I regret writing Apotheosis so early. How great is Uriel as a character? :3 Now if only Raphael was also a female archangel... So here's another AU to complete the set (for now?), where Alex was raised by Uriel.

I.

Alex's mom isn't like the other moms.

They never stay for long in settlements like this, a small, foul-smelling shanty town built hastily under a towering concrete highway. Alex never really gets why, but even at the tender age of six he knows it's probably because of something bad behind them, something that has his dad forever jumping at sharp movements. But just for now, he still gets to enjoy it, running around with a pack of other kids around his age on the sun-baked dirt, playing with an old basketball in a court marked with hoops of twisted wire precariously attached to jutting struts from half-ruined highways. 

"Your mom's real pretty," one of the girls - Nessa, her name was - murmurs shyly to him during a break, and Alex nods, a little awkwardly. 

It's something that he hears a lot. When it's coming from an adult, it sometimes means trouble to come. From another kid, though- "Yeah," he says finally, glancing quickly over his shoulder. 

As he had thought, Mom has somehow found her way up a seemingly sheer climb to the top of the abandoned highway, her chin tilted up as she watches the empty sky, her long, pale golden hair a sweeping mane over her deceptively slender shoulders, bared by her black tanktop, daggers strapped to sheaths along her thighs. She looks every inch a warrior, unbent by the destruction wrought upon humanity less than ten years ago. 

"You don't look like her," Nessa teases, and Alex grins back. He's used to this comment too.

"Got unlucky on the draw." 

The ball game plays well into the evening, until it's time for dinner, and Alex trudges back with his newfound friends, laughing and joking. Dad's waiting for him near the soup line, grinning as he ruffles Alex's hair. He's in an old khaki hunting jacket full of pockets, running frayed at the edges, as grizzled as its owner: Dad's running a week's growth of beard over his jaw, and his eyes are always so tired. Despite the heat, he's wrapped up again, sleeves to the wrists, jacket buttoned up, and he keeps Alex close as they join the queue. 

They're six ranks away from the pot when Mom slips into place beside Dad, startling him into flinching and Alex into giggling. It's something that Mom seems to always enjoy doing to Dad - she walks in absolute silence, and easily gets the drop on Dad, no matter what he tries. Today, however, instead of merely smirking, Mom leans in and whispers something into Dad's ear, and he blinks, then his lip twists. 

" _Now_?" Dad murmurs, almost too softly for Alex to hear. "If we go now, so close to getting food, don't you think that it's going to be fucking obvious?"

"Does it matter?" 

"You want rumours to spread about how a man and a kid might be running around with a-" 

Mom narrows her eyes. "Very well, Jeep. Your kind, your call." 

Dad sighs, and says nothing, until they're all served three tin bowls of bean soup with small flakes of ham - the tinned ham had been their offering to the camp to get shelter - and they head off to eat next to their orange Land Rover Defender. Working cars aren't at a premium, not with so many abandoned after the catastrophe that had struck humanity six years back, but fuel was, with fuel stations being a favourite hunting ground for 8-balls, and Dad didn't like to 'take any chances'. 

Mom perches on the hood, and as usual, she eats only a little before splitting the rest of her meal between Alex and Dad, setting the bowl aside. "We should avoid places like this," she tells Dad, an old argument. 

"We need places like this," he counters, as he always does. "Alex needs to meet people his age. _I_ need to talk to people now and then. It's that or go batshit crazy." 

Mom mutters something under her breath, all harsh consonants. "It brings trouble," she says at last. "Many human men have lusts that turn them into little more than dogs in heat. Now that your society has collapsed, it is worse. _Especially_ in places like this."

Dad scowls. "The abandoned cities are full of looter gangs, corpses and 8-balls. The bigger settlements are run by martial law, they don't like strangers, and it'll be harder to leave in the night if we have to. As to the _functioning_ cities, it's between Helena and Vega on this side of the world, and-"

"Not Vega."

"Your brother's done nothing but good for us."

"You've heard what Vega is turning into. I _told_ you what it would turn into." 

"I know. I know," Dad exhales loudly. "I just thought... sometimes I think that it's better for Alex to grow up with other kids, that's all. Fuck. Y'know," he adds, as he scrapes the bottom of his bowl, "This war is your fault."

"Oh?"

"You took a vacation from your shit-stirrer little brothers and look what happened to the world." Dad manages one of his rare, quick grins, and something rarer happens - Mom blinks at him, opens her mouth to retort, and then she starts to laugh. She hardly _ever_ laughs, and not ever like this, hearty and rich and amused, shoulders shaking, until Alex joins in and so does Dad, giggling together like kids, at the end of all that was good in the world. 

"So what did you do with the bodies this time?" Dad asks, when they've calmed down a little. "Or do I not want to know?"

"They've been adequately hidden. If you wish, we could stay another night, though I am certain that their families will have raised the alarm by now. Not showing up for the dinner line will have alerted the others."

"Yeah. I'll..." Dad scratches at his head. "I'll seed some rumour about 8-balls, then we can get out of here once the panic starts. Cover our tracks." He stares at Mom soberly for a moment. "Look. I know that you can take care of yourself, and you probably steamrolled those guys before they could blink, but I uh, I do really _fucking_ hate that this happens. That it _keeps_ happening." 

"Aww, aren't you cute," Mom says dryly, and pats Dad on the cheek a little mockingly. Under his beard, Dad blushes a little, and Alex grins, and climbs up onto the hood too.

"I'm just saying," Dad mutters, "Maybe you should wear a gun. Then you won't have to deal with people like that."

"Or they might gang up, and come at me with guns drawn," Mom shrugs, "Which will cause more problems. Stop worrying, Jeep. I swear, your kind live but eighty years or so and spend seventy-eight of them worrying." 

"I don't worry about things," Alex says quickly, and Mom grins, curling her arm around his shoulders.

"That's _right_. But have you read that book I gave you?"

Alex pouts. Mom's latest 'assignment' had been to read a textbook, about _history_ , and it hadn't been the most interesting of assignments. "I made it to World War One," he admits.

"Make it past World War Two tonight and I'll take you flying," Mom promises, and Alex grins, cheering up instantly. 

Yes. His Mom isn't like the other moms.

II.

The salmon is heavy enough that the walk home is slow going, but one good thing about being twelve years old is that he's starting to get into his first growth spurt, and it's not as heavy as it should be. Alex ducks branches and sidesteps a crumbling log as he picks his way up to the house, following the route by memory. The forest grows denser as he climbs the slope, then sparser, until he finally sees the red and blue house behind bars of fir and pine.

Letting himself into the kitchen, Alex sets the pail of bait down, lays his catch proudly on the table, then freezes as he hears a creaking step in the living room. Reaching instantly for the knife at his belt, Alex takes a quiet step around the kitchen bench, then relaxes as he hears familiar voices.

"You shouldn't let Alex walk about on his own," Uriel says, her tone clipped. 

"He's twelve, and he knows this part of the woods like the back of his hand," Jeep replies blandly. "He knows better than to approach a bear and there aren't any people in this neck of the area. What's the harm?"

"Accidents happen. Besides, both my brothers are still looking for him. For you." Uriel sounds irritated. "Why did you go into Tahoe City?"

"I've _told_ you. We needed a tank of gas, some fresh fruit, tools, y'know, shit that humans need to stay human? Besides, even if they see them, no one's going to know just from looking at my tatts that I'm anyone special. It's just a one-street town nowadays."

"I could have scavenged what you needed."

"All right, and I also needed to go to a bar, and sit with people, and order a beer, all right?" Jeep retorts roughly, and Alex internalises a sigh. "Staring at all this ink on my skin, day in, day out, it's driving me _crazy_! Besides, where were _you_?"

"Scouting," Uriel notes, in the curt tone she gets whenever she isn't inclined to say more, but today, maybe because of the alcohol in his blood, Jeep doesn't let it lie.

"Yeah? What sort of 'scouting'? In the _daytime_? You're going to have to come up with something better than that!"

There's a brief sound of a scuffle, then a yelp from Jeep, and a solid _thump_ , like a body being slammed against a wall and held there. Alex freezes, even as Uriel purrs, "You monkeys seem to forget so very _easily_ whom you're truly speaking to." 

"All right," Jeep gasps, "I'm _sorry_ , all _right_. Let up."

"You like my little brother? You should see what he does to people whom he thinks are _insubordinate_." Uriel's tone goes steely, hardening. "I've been in Vega-"

"What? _When_?"

"-and I've seen what is happening there. His Archangel Corps. His tidy little system of haves and have-nots, his system of punishments. Do you think that you - and Alex - will be _better off_ bending the knee to _Michael_? Natural obedience isn't part of either of your souls."

"No... hey, I'm sorry, Uriel, I'm _sorry_ -"

"Going into Tahoe City to 'drink'?" Uriel asks mockingly. "I _know_ what you go into settlements for, Jeep. Was it another blonde whore this time? I know it would have been. Did you pay her very much at all?" 

Jeep makes a strangled, groaning sound, and Alex freezes on the verge of making his presence known, starting to flush. Did his father _really_ \- 

"Kneel," Uriel commands, in a voice like silk, like steel, both, and there's a painful-sounding impact of flesh on wood, another gasp from Jeep, then a whimper, as there's a rustle of clothes, then a muffled clink as something small and metallic - the button on a pair of jeans, Alex thinks, with growing horror - hits the ground. 

"Keep your hands on your knees," Uriel breathes, and there's something strange in her tone, predatory, old beyond time and the rise of Man, "Use your mouth... ah." A soft, hushed sound, this time from Uriel, pressed over a rhythmic, wet noise. " _Yes_ ," Uriel growls, then starts to chuckle as Jeep makes a muffled, keening sound, a half-stifled plea. "No, pet. You won't be coming." 

Grimacing, Alex quietly lets himself out of the cabin, rod and bait and all, and heads back towards the lake. Well. That hadn't been _entirely_ unexpected.

III.

At twenty years of age, Alex finally manages to disarm Uriel in a knife fight. Six seconds later, he's flat on his face with her knee digging into his back, but _still_. "I'm awesome," he tells Uriel, spitting out grass, and she rolls her eyes as she lets him up.

"I think I liked you better when you were a tiny little thing who was convinced that I was his mother."

"You mean you're _not_?" Alex feigns astonishment, and Uriel's lip quirks briefly as she steps away to pick up her strange, circular-handled seraphim blade. 

"At least you learn quickly. Unlike your father."

"I heard that," Jeep calls out, from under the Land Rover, tools fanned out on a greasy rag beside him. "Old dogs, new tricks."

"You learn new tricks well enough, with the right sort of stimulation," Uriel drawls, and there's a long pause before Jeep lets out a hasty cough from under the Land Rover, and Alex pulls a face.

" _Gross_." 

"Your footwork's improved," Uriel continues, ignoring Alex, "But your..." She trails off, her chin jerking up, and she narrows her eyes, snapping her blade back into lock and hooking it at her side. 

"What?" Alex scrambles up, following Uriel's gaze, and that's when he sees it - a pillar of dark smoke, rising above the pines. Coming from Tahoe City. 

Jeep drags himself out from under the Land Rover, wiping down his hands on another rag, his expression grim. "That's too much damned smoke for an accident." 

"I'm going to investigate," Uriel says, in a clipped voice. "The two of you get into the cabin and stay there. Windows closed, doors locked." 

"Shouldn't we start driving?"

"They'll be watching for cars. Cabin. Go." 

"But you-"

"Jeep," Uriel notes dryly, "The day I have to fear a pack of 8-balls is the day I'll hang up _Pale Sister_ and retire." She pats her seraphim blade pointedly.

"What if it isn't a pack of 8-balls? The town's done good repelling those before."

"The higher angels have stayed out of the conflict so far. And if it's one of my brothers?" Uriel shrugs. "We won't hurt each other. Go." 

Jeep frowns, but then he nods, and makes for the house. Alex hesitates, and when Uriel arches an eyebrow at him, he says, "Take care of yourself. Mom." 

"Cheeky little thing," Uriel ruffles his hair, even though she has to reach up to do it, and then takes off in a roar of wings. 

Inside the house, Jeep hands Alex a pump action shotgun, and picks up an M16, slinging the strap over his shoulder. They've done drills for as long as Alex remembers living in the cabin - check the windows, bar the back door, bar the front door, check the windows again, check the grate in the chimney. Then they settle down in the living room, waiting. 

His dad's expression is drawn, his face pale, and Alex tries to reassure him. "She's an archangel. Nobody's going to be able to hurt her." 

"She's been slumming with us for a long time." Jeep mutters. He's loading his Colt Commander, looking grim, sighting briefly down the barrel of the pistol. "You disarmed her just a few minutes ago." 

"That's just me getting better," Alex protests, though now the doubt's starting to settle in, and when Jeep makes a shushing gesture, he shuts up, breathing deep. Even if 8-balls had been behind the attack on the town, they'll be safe here, he reasons. Their house is pretty hard to pick out, and it can't be seen from the town.

Unless you can fly, the treacherous little voice in Alex whispers, and Alex tells it to shut the hell up.

He doesn't know how long it is, just the two of them, sitting in the gloom, and he's rechecking his shotgun for the eighth time when there's a scuttling noise on their roof. Jeep tenses, narrowing his eyes, and tilts his head. After a moment, he mouths _8-ball_ , and Alex nods. The scuttling sound gets to their chimney, and Alex narrows his eyes as he sees a few clumps of soot drop down through the grate. 

Unfortunately, the 8-ball doesn't chance the chimney after all, more's the pity, and the scuttling creeps back across the roof, towards one of the reinforced windows - Jeep's bedroom. The window rattles, but doesn't give, and there's a low, angry hiss. 

Something throws itself against the front door, and Jeep tenses, but like the rest of the house, it's been reinforced to Uriel's satisfaction, and it only shakes a little. Alex breathes out. Stalemate. 

Or so he thought. There's a sloshing sound, a muffled chatter of cackles, and then the unmistakable crackle of a fire starting. Beside him, Jeep goes pale. The cabin's made of logs. It'll catch like a fucking _tinderbox_. 

"We can wait," Jeep mutters, "And get smoked out, or we can get out, catch them by surprise, and try to reach the Land Rover." 

"What about Uriel? She told us to wait here."

Jeep's jaw sets, his eyes hard. "You're more important than she is. And she's not here."

"They'll be waiting at the back door." 

Jeep nods, and smirks a little. "That's why we're heading up the chimney." 

The grate unlocks with a soft, oiled click, and pulls aside easily enough. The chimney is wide, with blackened rungs set to its side, and although it's a bit of a squeeze for his shoulders, Alex manages to fit in behind Jeep, trying to climb as silently as possible. It's a short climb out to the sun, and Jeep helps him out, motioning for him to flatten down. 

There are two groups of 8-balls, one watching the front door, one watching the back. More worryingly, there're also _winged_ angels with them, one with each pack, and Jeep bares his teeth slightly even as he hands Alex a grenade. He holds up a finger, and they pull the pins off together. Two fingers. Three. Alex tosses the grenade to the first pack, even as Jeep tosses his to the other. 

The explosion ratchets up shrieks and blasts of gore, but both of the winged angels shoot up into the air, avoiding it. Shrilling their rage, they sweep down, but Alex takes in a slow breath, sights down his barrel, waits, and fires. The first angel takes the shotgun blast full in the chest, tumbling away in a wet stain of blood and shattered bone off the roof. The other darts away from Jeep's controlled burst fire from his rifle, snarling, sweeping higher, as though trying to get away, and Jeep grits his teeth, gives up, and gestures. "Move!"

Nodding, Alex slip-slides off the roof, Jeep right behind him, and they head towards the Land Rover, keeping a sharp eye out. An 8-ball leaps out at Alex from the roof of the Land Rover, screaming, and gets a shotgun blast nearly point blank that tears away its face. Bursts from Jeep's rifle tells Alex that more 8-balls have come out of the tree line, and he fires again, discharging most of another blast into the chest of another 8-ball, and again, shells tinkling, catching one high on the arm that sends it rolling, screaming. They back up to the Land Rover, Jeep covering Alex as he scrambles inside and starts up the ignition, then he hauls himself in as the engine growls to life. 

They make it down to the 89, barely, with Jeep leaning precariously out of a window and grimly firing at pursuers. Eventually, he pulls himself back into the car, swearing under his breath, then grinning fiercely. "That's it, son. We've gotten out. We've-" 

Something lands abruptly in the road ahead of them, a heaving whorl of black feathers and golden hair and Alex stares for a moment, too frozen to react. It's Jeep who yelps and grabs the wheel and swerves, and Alex belatedly stamps down on the brakes, skidding the Land Rover in a squeal of tyres. Jeep's out of the car before it even rolls to a stop, rushing over to Uriel, his harsh gasps of "Oh God no, Oh _God_ no," loud even over the hum of the engine.

Alex gets out even as Jeep picks up Uriel's far too still body, her wings retracting as he does, and settles her into the back of the Land Rover as Alex opens the backseat door. There's a shard of metal sticking out of her, in the centre of her chest, and Alex's heart nearly stops - until Uriel's eyelashes flicker slightly under her closed eyes. 

"She's still alive." 

"Can't pull that out, she'll bleed out," Jeep's carefully settling Uriel against him as he closes the door, and Alex clambers back into the driver's seat. "Drive!" 

"Where to?" 

Jeep shudders, looking briefly indecisive, then he sets his jaw. "Vega."

IV.

"She'll be fine now." Archangel Michael straightens up from the still form of Uriel on the hospital bed, tucking the black feather away under his coat. Alex stares disbelievingly at the now-closed gash on Uriel's skin, then back up at Michael, then back down.

"I didn't know that angels could do that." 

"Neither did I," Jeep says, frowning for a moment, then he sighs. "Hell. It's good to see you, Michael." 

"All this while..." Michael trails off, then he tilts his head for a moment. "This is not the place. Come." Gently, he gathers Uriel up in his arms, and they follow him out of the hospital, trying to ignore the stares and pointing from the nurses, doctors and some patients. Alex barely remembers the walk, huddled close to Jeep and blinking. He doesn't ever remember being near so many _people_. The experience is utterly surreal. 

He does sneak a few glances at Michael though, when he can. Somehow, Alex had been expecting a golden-haired male version of Uriel, deep down, but Michael doesn't visibly resemble Uriel at all. Uriel is like the sun, in the glory of the morning, with her gorgeous golden mane, her fierce gaze, her lush mouth and supple curves. Michael is the fate of the evening sun, sleek and slender as a knife, his black hair in soft curls over milk-white skin, elegant and impossibly graceful, the depth of his eyes like looking into the dark heart of the universe itself. 

Alex feels nervous and too large for his skin, standing in the crowded little elevator heading up to Michael's perch, his hands sweating, his heart jumping. He nearly yelps when Michael says, in a voice like the whisper of eternity between the stars, "So, this is the boy?" 

"Yeah," Jeep says uncomfortably. There's something carefully respectful in his tone that Alex isn't quite used to. 

"Have you managed to read the tattoos?"

"Nope. Alex hasn't, either. Uri... er, your sister tried to help, but we couldn't figure it out." Jeep shifts his weight, ducking his head. "She's really going to be all right?" 

"Yes. I presume she'll need to... 'sleep it off'." Michael pronounces the colloquialism with a careful delicacy that would have made Alex grin if the situation wasn't so grim. "You did well to bring her here. But you should have come before."

"Yeah, well, I wanted to," Jeep mutters. "But your big sister was running the show, and she's, ah, well, if I thought that _Gabriel_ was scary..." 

Michael smiles - it's a small, faint smile, and it's gone almost immediately. "I know what she is like."

The archangel's perch is really a huge, circular chamber, with a raised bed in the centre, all deep blue satin sheets and silks. Michael sets Uriel down gently on the bed, then motions them aside, to the - there's no other word for it, _nest_ \- of pillows near the open balcony. Alex sits down gratefully, exhausted. He's been driving for _hours_ upon hours, and he's ready to pass out. 

Jeep, however, silently clasps hands with Michael, before sitting down as well, with a deep sigh. His shirt's still bloody down one side to his ribs. Uriel's blood. Alex feels briefly nauseous, and has to look away, stomach churning. 

Michael doesn't sit - he folds his pale hands behind his back, and faces his city. It's probably a couple of hours before sunrise: they've been driving maybe eight hours, and then had to spend an hour begging their way into the city before Michael had thankfully shown up. Alex settles deeper into the cushions, closing his eyes, listening to Jeep update Michael about their lives to date. He probably dozes off at that point - when he wakes up, it's to Jeep letting out a yelp of shock, and Alex sits up sharply just in time to see Uriel and Michael both dive off the balcony. 

"Fuck!" Jeep jumps to his feet, then clenches his hands. Alex scrambles up, watching breathlessly as the furling, heaving swathe of wings crash-lands on a nearby rooftop. Michael has his hands up, in a placating gesture, when they disentangle, and after a long moment, Uriel straightens up from her defensive crouch, checking herself over. 

Their flight back up to Michael's perch is sedate, and Uriel looks Jeep and Alex both over before nodding and folding away her wings. "Can't say that this was a good decision," Uriel tells Jeep.

"Bite me." Jeep retorts, his hands clenching and unclenching for a moment before he awkwardly hooks his thumbs in his belt. 

"Who stabbed you with Empyrean steel?" Michael asks, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

"Furiad, would you believe it." Uriel rolls her eyes. "He wouldn't normally have been a challenge in the least, but I was a little distracted." 

" _Distracted?_ "

"His minions set fire to my playhouse, of course I got distracted." Uriel scowls a little. "He's no longer a problem, the little bastard. I never liked him anyway." 

"He would _dare_..." Michael trails off. "It's Gabriel." 

"Gabriel wouldn't hurt me." 

"Gabriel's changed, Uriel, he's-"

"No, he _doesn't_ change. Neither do you," Uriel cuts in, her lip curling. "That's the _problem_ with the both of you. It's _always_ been the problem with the both of you. Honestly, Michael. I leave Heaven for a few decades and the two of you destroy our Father's greatest Creation?"

"It was Gabriel," Michael retorts. 

"Gabriel's been content to confine his convictions to shouting matches with you in the Silver City," Uriel disagrees. "I do not in the _least_ believe that this was _all_ done on his own initiative. Where's Raphael?"

Michael shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine. She left when I decided to. I haven't seen her since. Said that she was going 'somewhere quiet' until Gabriel and I had 'gotten over ourselves'." Michael scowls a little when Jeep lets out a startled laugh, as though realizing belatedly that Uriel and himself had an audience. 

"I don't blame her. The number of times over the centuries where I felt that the two of you deserved a proper slapping..." Uriel exhales loudly. "We'll have to speak to Gabriel." 

"Yes," Michael frowns again. "You probably should tell us where you've been. _And_ why you hid the Chosen One." 

Alex looks curiously over at Jeep, who shoots him a brief, pained glance before staring at his feet. Did this have to do with the strange tattoos on Jeep's body? For a Chosen One, Alex thinks, trying to hide his grin, his Dad's a really strange choice.

"I had my reasons," Uriel shrugs, and seems to notice the room around her for the first time. "Really, brother. Your absolute lack of taste is still as appalling as ever." 

Jeep lets out a stifled snort, like a badly swallowed laugh, and Michael gives him a briefly reproachful look. "I trust that you will stay in Vega for a time?" 

"Tonight, certainly."

"The humans are holding a yearly event tomorrow. The Jubilee. It should be... entertaining. You are welcome to attend. Jeep and Alex as well." 

"I've never understood the human love of spectacle." 

"Also, the Vega Council would like to see you as soon as possible." 

Uriel smirks. "I have to convince them that I'm not the enemy?" 

"And Jeep."

"But not Alex." Uriel says sharply.

"No. Not Alex. I'll assign the Archangel Corps to watch him. They can be trusted." 

Alex isn't sure whether he should feel hurt or relieved, but he nods slowly, and tries not to look too lost when Uriel, Michael and Jeep pack off, presumably to see the Council. He's left with a pair of guards who look like they're around his age, a woman and a man, the former dark-skinned, with a neat black ponytail and a curling, mischievous grin, the other tall, pale and honest-looking, his glance a little too frank. They're openly curious about his presence, and Alex coughs. 

"Hi. I'm Alex."

The guards glance at each other, then the woman ventures, "I'm Noma." 

"Ethan, sir."

Alex winces. "No 'sir', please. Um. Sorry to ask, but is there some food around here? I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon." 

Noma arches an eyebrow. "You're human?"

"What? Of _course_ I'm human," Alex says, looking puzzled. "Why would I not be human?"

"You arrived with an archangel," Ethan points out. "Michael's _sister_. All of Vega's been talking about it."

"Um, so?"

"Told you so," Ethan informs Noma. "Angels don't sweat. And they have some sort of special anti-dirt aura. Alex and 'Jeep' are totally human."

Noma rolls her eyes, then says, in a kinder tone, "Sir... uh, Alex... there's a bathroom over there. Why don't you get washed up, and we'll bring up some clean clothes your size? And some food. Welcome to Vega."

V.

Grudgingly, Uriel is somehow convinced by her brother to live in Vega, 'for now', and Alex and Jeep settle into an awkward life in House Riesen's lavish quarters. General Riesen is a forbidding old man, but his daughter Claire is pretty and charming, and there's more food than Alex has ever seen. He starts to enjoy himself, although the largesse seems to make Jeep wary.

"You've always wanted to come here," Alex tells Jeep one evening, softly, when Jeep's about to go off to sleep. 

Jeep glances at the door, where the ever-present Archangel Corps are outside. "Yeah, but now that we _are_ here..." he trails off, with a shudder. "I've been outside, Alex. Outside House Riesen, outside Michael's tower. Things are fucked up in Vega. It's crazy out there. Uriel was right. This isn't a good place to be."

"So we should go?"

"That's Uriel's call to make," Jeep says uncomfortably. "She's been staying in Michael's roost, maybe she can convince him to change things." 

Jeep's jaw clenches a little as he says this, and Alex grins at him. "You could just tell her that you miss her."

"Wha- I see her everyday," Jeep scowls, but Alex's grin just widens, and he sighs. "That's none of your business. And it's not what you think."

"Sure thing, Dad," Alex drawls, and smirks when Jeep glares at him before stomping off. Alex grins to himself, counts to twenty, then he steps out to the balcony and starts to climb.

Michael's already waiting on the roof by the time he makes it up there, and hands folded behind his back, and he nods when Alex hauls himself up. The flight's a short one, out of Vega, this time to a mansion tucked away in a thick sweep of fir forest, a large skylight open at the top that lets them in with a few flaps of Michael's great wings. 

"You guys are like packrats," Alex notes, looking around. Just like the other safehouses that Michael has taken him to during their night-time 'excursions', this one is stocked full of antique furniture and paintings, propped haphazardly on exquisite old chairs and rosewood tables. 

"Some aspects of human culture should not be left to be unceremoniously looted," Michael notes, and draws him close. Alex leans up for the first kiss of the night, groaning as Michael slips his tongue into his mouth, and he rubs himself against Michael's thigh teasingly, with a slow breath. He still can't believe that they're doing this. He can't believe that _he's_ doing this. In secret. With _Michael_. 

"You're so gorgeous," Alex says breathlessly, when Michael lets him up, and Michael makes a low, humming sound as he nips Alex's jaw, then down, a licking, nipping path to his jugular, pressing his cool, soft lips to his pulse. Alex whimpers, grinding himself a little harder against Michael, and gets bitten for it, Michael's hands kneading his arse, squeezing. 

"To think that at the beginning you only wanted to talk," Alex adds, as he nips Michael's ear, and Michael huffs out a low laugh, tugging Alex's jacket off his shoulders, then pulling off his shirt. 

"I've said that I stand corrected." Deft fingers make short work of Alex's belt, as well, then his trousers and underwear and boots, until Alex is naked, his feet curling on the dusty carpet, tugging impatiently at Michael's coat. Unfazed, Michael looks him over instead, hungrily, memorizing him, until Alex starts to squirm and blush, his dick already at half-mast and they haven't even really started. 

"Beautiful," Michael murmurs, and Alex snorts, going down on his knees, hoping that he's wearing a sultry smile but he's not exactly practiced at all this, fumbling as he gets Michael's belt open, then the catches on his sheer black trousers. The archangel's cock is slender, but long, and when Alex licks the tip experimentally, Michael's hands curl tight on his shoulders. 

Fucking angels had to be a family tradition, Alex thinks, and has to struggle not to laugh as he swallows Michael down, a little awkwardly, not being able to fit very much more than the swollen head over his tongue, setting his hand on the rest and squeezing. He loves the weight of it, the salty taste, the way Michael groans and twitches against him, the way hands that could so easily crush his skull caress his hair with painstaking tenderness. When Alex starts to suckle, bobbing his head, fighting his gag reflex, Michael whispers a string of dissonant Enochian, and Alex has to press a hand down hard over his own dick to keep himself under control. 

Michael makes an irritated sound when Alex pulls away, the angel's tense expression betraying how close he is, and Alex swipes his tongue teasingly up the tip of Michael's cock before saying, "How about you fuck me today?"

That came out rather less seductive than Alex had hoped, but Michael closes his eyes, with a soft breath, then he abruptly pulls Alex to his feet, picking him up, and strides pass the chairs, the paintings, the old furniture, dropping him on a pile of cushions close to the back of the mansion. "What is it with you and pillows-" Alex starts, then yelps as Michael curls fingers into his hair, kissing him roughly, possessively, until Alex is writhing under him, rubbing his hands feverishly up and down Michael's back. 

"Have you had anyone before?" Michael growls against his ear, stroking his thighs. 

"N-no-"

"Good. Keep it that way." Michael pushes his thighs apart, greedily, and shrugs off his coat, fumbling in the pockets until he takes out a small vial. At Alex's blink, Michael asks, curiously, "Do you know what happens next?"

"Well _yeah_."

"Tell me," Michael instructs, and Alex groans, flushing in embarrassment. 

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Tell me," Michael insists, and this time Alex swallows hard. 

"You're going to... you're going to fuck me with-"

"Don't be crude, Alex. There's a process involved."

"What process?"

Michael sighs, as though rebuking a child, and uncorks the vial, getting oil over his fingers. "First," he says, and his voice has a little, hungry edge to it that makes Alex's toes curl against the cushions, "I'm going to use my fingers." He presses in one to the knuckle, slowly, and as Alex flinches, Michael whispers, "You're so tight. But you'll ease into it," he adds, as he starts to thrust his finger, curling and uncurling the digit, "Get used to it. You'll be ready for more soon." 

At three fingers, Alex is growing a little breathless, hands clutching the cushions, arching into Michael's exploring fingers, letting out wounded, helpless whimpers whenever Michael teasingly brushes his prostate. Fuck. He's never even known about _that_ before, not until Michael had whispered what he was going to do to Alex, step by step, driving him crazy. Michael's self-control is insane, the archangel utterly unruffled as he methodically takes Alex apart, until Alex is begging him, tugging anxiously at Michael's shoulders: only then does Michael strip down and start to press into him.

With all the prep, it's still a shock, and a struggle to adjust, to calm down, to focus on Michael's soothing praise, the faint hitch that he can now hear in Michael's voice, the steely strength in the shoulders curved over his. Alex sweeps his hands down to Michael's shoulderblades, where his wings would be, and Michael lets out a low and strangled sound, half-muted by the cushions. 

Emboldened, Alex gasps, "Your wings. I wanna see them." 

A shudder runs through Michael's frame, but he says nothing, breathing hard as he presses all the way in. The thicker base takes a few tries, but Alex makes a harsh gasp of relief when it finally fits, tentatively wrapping his legs around Michael's waist. It hurts, but it's a good hurt, Alex thinks, one with a promise of something better, as much as it now feels like a burn. He has _Michael_. 

"Your wings," he repeats, louder, and Michael groans, arching slightly, and his black wings flare out from his back, spreading wide, the wingtips brushing the walls to either side of them. Carefully, Alex presses a palm up against Michael's left wing, marvelling at the strange texture of the feathers, unnaturally smooth, not particularly soft. He would have rubbed further down, but Michael catches his palm tightly. 

"You'll hurt yourself," Michael says curtly, and his pupils look blown with lust, dark and wide. "They're not meant for human hands." 

"Oh," Alex says, disappointed, then blinks as Michael shifts his grip carefully down, to his back instead, and presses until Alex finally understands, and strokes around the root of the wings instead, kneading. Michael pushes into his grip with a tight gasp, his own hands now clenching tight on Alex's waist, still waiting for Alex to adjust. 

Alex finds out that Michael will make a small, tight noise of pleasure when he digs his thumbs down against a muscle near the top of the root of each wing; he does it again, harder, then more gently and Michael growls, and thrusts hard against him, then lets out a low, rough gasp when Alex keens and scrabbles at his shoulders. The wings flare, heaving up, then Michael starts to take him, snarling as he snaps his hips against Alex's spread thighs, punching a pulse of pure ecstasy through his blood at each thrust, and it's not just the physical pleasure of it all that makes Alex cry out; it's the crazy, unbelievable beauty of it all, a creature as perfect as Michael braced against him, the _scent_ of him, the feel of his muscle bunching under Alex's palms as he thrusts. 

It's all that Alex can do to hang on, begging, pleading, until Michael grunts and shifts and gets an oiled hand over Alex's cock, stroking him roughly until he spills in thick bursts over Michael's beautiful fingers. Sated, Alex lies loose and pliant as Michael angles up Alex's hips with a palm under the small of his back, using his great wings to balance himself as he lets out a slow breath. Alex almost expects the pace to pick up, for Michael to find his own pleasure instead, but it slows down, instead, the archangel burying his mouth against Alex's pulse. 

Puzzled, Alex strokes his hands up Michael's back, reaching for the roots of his wings, and at the first moan that he teases out from Michael, he rubs harder, exploring the hard dips of the novel muscles until Michael's hips start to stutter, until Michael chokes out a gasping snarl of the seraphim tongue and then stills abruptly, pushed deep. 

"Uriel will not be pleased," Michael murmurs, as they rest, cool fingers stroking distractingly up and down Alex's flank.

"Don't see why she would care," Alex yawns. "Dad's the Chosen One. I'm just a supporting act."

Michael shifts up, his expression serious. "Why would you say that?"

"Dad has the tattoos? It's all right, though," Alex leans up to press a playful kiss on the edge of Michael's mouth. "I think it's all rather creepy. Better him than me."

Michael hums, settling down on his side and pulling Alex against him. "You're very special, Alex."

"Nice to see that angels know what pillow talk is," Alex teases. "Seriously, Uriel won't care." 

"Will she not? She did raise you."

"She's been sleeping with Dad," Alex shrugs, and when Michael tenses up, he starts to laugh. "Don't tell me that you didn't know that."

"I... why would she... _no_ she wouldn't," Michael frowns. "She would not." 

"Why not?"

"It isn't in her nature," Michael says, a little helplessly. " _No_." 

"Oh man," Alex looks closely, then starts to grin wickedly. "I think I just broke your brain. That's _hilarious_ , I-mmph-"

Michael shifts up from where he had just silenced Alex with a hard kiss. "This deserves further investigation." 

"What, your sister? Or...?" Pointedly, Alex rubs a palm back up to the root of Michael's left wing, trailing his fingers carefully over the tiny, smooth feathers that rise from Michael's skin. Michael hums, with a low, soft sound of hunger, and nips Alex over the pulse in his neck.

VI.

Alex isn't entirely sure why Uriel had taken him along to the so-called 'peace talks'. Jeep had objected loudly, as had the Vega Council, but all had been blithely overruled, and now Alex was standing in the rectangular pitch of an abandoned stadium, the grass long overgrown. There's no sign of life other than Michael and Uriel, dressed for battle and watching the sky, Uriel's wings fanning the air.

Then Gabriel drops out of the sky, and Alex wishes for a nervous moment that he had at least insisted on having a pistol. A dagger, even. At least Alex manages to stand his ground instead of shuffling behind Uriel as he's tempted to, but it's a near thing. Just like Michael, Gabriel doesn't seem to resemble either of his siblings in the least: he's bulkier, broader at the shoulders, square-jawed, with an easy cruelty in the hard line of his mouth.

Gabriel's glance sweeps incuriously over Alex and Michael before lighting on Uriel. "Well, well. The prodigal returns. What's the pet human for?"

"Save it, brother," Uriel says briskly. "I'm here to ask you for a ceasefire." 

"Why, I never knew that you cared," Gabriel drawls, flicking a glance at Michael. "You've never picked sides before." 

"I'm not picking sides in your ridiculous little feud. I'm just informing you that we have other matters to worry about, and your continuous attacks on humanity aren't helping."

"What other matters?"

"The Chosen One's been found," Michael notes, in his mild, neutral tone.

"Really now. And you've both known this for how long, exactly?"

"Don't feign surprise," Michael snaps, the first sign of temper that Alex has ever seen from him. "You tried to have our _sister_ killed." 

Gabriel's expression twists, and he snarls, "Furiad overstepped himself. I've made my displeasure known to the others, and I'm glad that he didn't survive the attempt. Uriel, I would never have made _any_ order to-"

"Save it," Uriel says curtly. "Furiad's always been a little shit. But you and _Michael_ should have known better. This world was not made for _us_."

"A quarter of the Silver City has gone dark, and it's getting worse," Gabriel snaps. "We _need_ this world. We need our Father to come back." 

"And he will. Through the Chosen One," Uriel shoots back. "I'm certain of that." 

Gabriel seems to seriously register Alex for the first time, then, studying Alex thoughtfully. "This is one of your usual pets," Gabriel says finally. "The 8-balls mentioned him. There was an older one, as well. How can you stand the smell?" 

"They are not so bad," Uriel notes, with a supremely casual indifference that Alex finds pretty amazing, given the circumstances.

"Did you know that Michael has been consorting with them?" Gabriel asks nastily. "Scores of the females, the last I heard." 

Alex tries to keep his expression still, even as Uriel asks, dryly, "Really, Michael?"

" _You've_ been 'consorting' with the father of the Chosen One," Michael returns blandly.

The father of the...? 

" _What_?" Gabriel squawks, at the same time that Alex yelps, "No _way_!" 

"How _dare_ you say that about our _sister_ ," Gabriel snarls, wings mantling, even as Alex protests, " _Dad's_ the Chosen One, not me." 

"Alex, be quiet," Uriel snaps. "Gabriel, you're getting distracted-"

" _Distracted_? Michael can malign me all he likes, but you-" 

"Save it, Gabriel. We have more important matters to discuss."

"First, I want Michael to admit that he's a liar," Gabriel retorts. 

"I've never lied to you before," Michael replies calmly.

Uriel exhales irritably. "Michael's right. Can we move on now?"

"He's _right_?" Gabriel repeats, incredulous. "How could you even... they're _humans_. That's _disgusting_." 

"Gabriel-"

"I'm not going to..." Gabriel shakes his head, in clear revulsion, and sweeps himself up into the air, spiralling up out of sight. Uriel rubs a hand over her face, with a groan. 

"Did you truly have to aggravate him? _Again_? You know how sensitive Gabriel can be."

"He wasn't about to respond well to reason," Michael says mildly. " _I_ can't believe that you never told Alex what he was."

"Oh, that's rich," Uriel says sarcastically. "It's entirely what you would have done."

"Maybe, but I didn't think it would have been what _you_ would have done." 

"What does it even mean?" Alex interjects, still feeling dazed and utterly disoriented. " _Dad's_ the one with the tattoos!" 

"Yes, Alex, I haven't yet figured that part out," Uriel says soothingly, stepping over to ruffle his hair, the way she would when he was a child, but he jerks back.

"What am I supposed to _do_? Does Dad know about this?"

"He does." 

"And all of you kept it from me all this while?"

"Because," Uriel notes dryly, "I had a feeling that you wouldn't handle it very well, _Alex_. Calm _down_ , for Heaven's sake."

"I don't even... there's a _religion_ devoted to the Chosen One in _Vega_!"

"That's entirely my brother's fault," Uriel shoots Michael a significant look. "And if I didn't know better, I would have thought it some sort of courtship gesture."

Alex blinks, and shoots Michael an accusing look. "Flowers are too last century for angels?" 

Michael's expression freezes for only a moment. "Either way, Gabriel was never going to agree to a truce."

"No, I suppose not. I'll try to talk to him again later, when he's calmed down a little." Uriel scowls. " _Without_ you, brother. I'll see you both back in Vega. Try and calm Alex down. I'll go and make sure that Gabriel doesn't get up to any mischief while he's upset."

Uriel leaves as well, in a great sweep of her wings, and Alex sinks down onto the pitch, still blinking slowly. He can't process this. He can't. 

Eventually, Michael settles down beside him, clasping his hand. "What am I meant to do next?" Alex asks numbly.

"Live." Michael says, unhesitatingly. "I have no doubt that you _will_ 'figure it out'. Your kind is particularly good at such endeavours." 

"What," Alex asks, shakily, "How to bring God back? I don't think it's going to be as simple as sacrificing a few chickens and dancing around a fire."

"Probably not," Michael allows. "But it is still worth trying for. He is the one force in Creation that can heal your world. And ours." 

"Pretty sure we were doing _fine_ until the war started," Alex mutters, a little resentfully. "It can't be me, Michael. It can't be. I'm no one special."

"All of your kind are special," Michael says softly. "From the miracle of conception itself, through the infinitesimal chance that you, and not anyone else, was brought into the world. From the way you have all made the world into your image, even with your short lives, your individual frailty. Humanity is God's greatest creation, not my kind. You are his children, the ones who inherited the earth. Angels are but the Watchers."

That's a sobering thought to take in, and Alex pats Michael tentatively on the knee, and manages a grin when Michael takes that as an invitation to tug him close, to pull Alex up until Alex is straddling his lap. Behind Michael, his great black wings are twin, sleek shadows at rest against the tall grass, and Alex carefully rests his palms against the ridged arch of one, and then the other. 

"I tore them from my back, once," Michael murmurs softly, even as he shifts his wings lightly under Alex's touch. "It was a gesture," he adds, when Alex shoots him a horrified stare. 

"Why would you even..." Alex trails off, shaking his head. He'll never understand angels. "Don't do it again," he concludes, a little lamely. "Not for anyone."

Michael kisses his neck instead of answering, his lips a ticklish, wet presence that curls down to the hollow of his throat, and Alex shifts his hands up to twist through the short spikes of Michael's hair. Michael whispers something against his skin, a promise, perhaps, or a question, then they rest their foreheads together, Alex's hands on cool, pale cheeks, Michael's splayed against the small of Alex's back. For a moment, they sit beyond time, beyond the war, and nothing else matters. 

Then Alex reluctantly gets to his feet, and stretches a hand out to help Michael to his. If he's learned but one thing from Uriel, all these years, it's pragmatism. "I guess we should get to work."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent


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